


The Children of Yavanna

by Kimthin



Series: Finding Solace in Chance [1]
Category: Bilbo Baggins - Fandom, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, bagginshield - Fandom, thilbo - Fandom, thorin oakenshield - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, I mean it, I mean no one dies, Slow Build, Slow Burn, you know you love it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 08:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3929611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimthin/pseuds/Kimthin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long before the journey to the Misty Mountains, before the halls of Bag-End were erected, the fates of two were coupled. This is a story not often told, of the mother of Middle-Earth, her loving husband. and how the fate of one little Hobbit and one mighty Prince, collided.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of Something Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> Arda- The world of Middle-Earth  
> Valar- Powers of the world created by Iluvatar  
> Eru/ Iluvatar- Supreme deity of Arda  
> Yavanna- Responsible for all things that grow on Arda, creator of the Ents  
> Aule- Responsible for the fashioning and crafting the substances of which Arda was composed.  
> Melkor-Later called Morgoth, the first Dark Lord and master of Sauron.

Many things of old are long forgotten, and too many are left without much thought or high regard to. They are as lost to time as the granules of sand that number the shore, but one should never hasten away from hearing of them. For though they are old as time itself, they hold a greater meaning. And you may see, that not all things that happen perchance, were truly chance at all. 

We will begin our tale here, where the sands of time stood still for both Dwarrow and Elf, during the great sleep of Yavanna. As it were, the Awakening was drawing closer and closer, and the children of Illuvatar would soon inhabit the world she had grown and nurtured back to life after Melkor had strove to destroy it all in his greed. All of her beautiful creations, save for the mighty tree herders, would fall victim to them, and it gripped her heart in worry and woe. 

Aule, her husband, had seen her grief, and upon her lamentations in the light of the moon, prayed to Eru that peace come to his bride. Eru found pity on her, and upon her cries and tears that fell to the earth, he allowed one final creation to bloom from her care.  
These children of Yavanna, though not borne of her hand, opened their eyes many years after the Awakening of Dwarrow and Elves, but in them they bore the innocence of the earth she had created. They grew no taller than the waist of an elf, just shy of the height of a dwarf, and they went for many, many years without notice by even the other Valar. 

However, the one to find them was well interested in the safekeeping of these little ones. He was a Maiar, a guardian of sorts sent by the Valar to aid in the fight against Sauron, and he went by many a name. But the one he grew so very fond of, chimed from the fauntlings of the beautiful rolling hills of the Shire.  
"GANDALF!" One fauntling cried, running to greet him, wide eyes shining in the light of the sun as he took off from the gates of a great hall that would be Bag-End by the end of the season. 

And so, one small part of our great story comes to pass in the fields of the Shire, and for now we must part. For another thread to this grand tapestry is nearing it's time to pass, and it would not do well to leave it out of the grand design.


	2. Rise of the Sons of Aule

Aule's prayers had not gone unheeded, as it had happened before with his own mighty creation. For long before that moment, he had feared that he would not be able to pass on his craft, and for this purpose he made his own beings. Though the race be stubborn and as unyielding as the very mountains he had carved them from. They would bow to no man, elf, nor master, and they held in their sights an Arda built strong and gleaming- the very Arda Aule himself had pictured. 

The Dwarrow had been put into rest with the fair folk of Iluvatar, and there they waited for many, many years. And when the time had come, the Dwarrow settled deep into their mountains, and they claimed leaders amongst themselves: the mightiest lords of them all. One was brought to his throne in a lonely mountain.  
And he named his great kingdom.  
Erebor. 

\---  
"Father," He called, hand to his chest, eyes wide as saucers as he wandered to the throne room of Erebor. It was strange, the feeling in his chest, and it wasn't one he had ever felt before. Not an illness that Balin had been able to identify, and Dwalin had merely told him to speak to Thrain on the matter.  
"Inudoy, what is-" The king began, stopping shy of touching the lad. With the slightly hunched frame and the furrowed brow, he dare not touch him for fear that he would simply fall over. When the boy finally managed to meet his eyes, he found his own brow furrowed as he spoke. 

"What is this," he demanded, breathing a bit too hastened for his own liking, let alone his father's, "it feels as if I've lost-" Thrain's brow unknitted, and a gentle smile lit his features as he moved to lead his child to sit down. "Oh, my child," he mused, eyes dancing with mirth and feeling excitement race through him, "it seems your One has finally entered the world to join you."  
"I'm well over fifty years old, addad, and you're saying they are NOW entering the world,' he scoffed, "this is absurd!"

\----  
"Oh Belladonna... it's a healthy baby boy..."


	3. Learning to Collaborate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the loss of his parents, Bilbo had long since buried his Took roots in the mundane life he held so dear. And now he is being rattled by a wise old wizard, and he is not so sure he likes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's layout may be much different from the previous two chapters, but it is for great reason so please, do not panic! If you wish for the rest of the story to be as it had been, please inbox me! I wish to be critiqued to improve my work! How else will I write a lovely story for you all?

2926 was a year forever forged into the mind of a young hobbit.  
The sounds of great sorrow echoed through the Shire, and it seemed as if all of Arda mourned alongside them. Rain fell upon the grassy knolls, and it did nothing to ease the ache in the young lads heart. Not one condolence aided him, nor was there solace found in the hug of a friend or the gentle adoration of his mother. Nothing lessened the weight he now carried or filled the empty place he now saw everywhere, in his father's chair by the fire, or across the table at their many meals.  
He found himself closing his eyes tight every day to recall all of his stories, all of his coined phrases of encouragement and hope, to bind them- to hold them deep in his heart. Try as she may, Belladonna could only hope Bilbo found his peace, wherever it may lead him. 

It seemed, however, that he was resolute in his choice to become his father- every bit the reliable, respectable hobbit despite the itch in his veins that tried to pull his mind to far away lands. Over time, he grew to understand what it was, this need. It was what his dear mother had called "the Took in him", and it ached for adventures and mighty destinies, like a dandelion seed taking to the wind. The thought both thrilled and terrified the boy, for what friends of his had ever dreamt of leaving the Shire, except in their nightmares?  
And so he threw himself into maps and gathering all manner of things, flooding the shelves of Bag-End with stories and troves of "How-to's", trying to force the very desire from his mind and into other things, and yet, not one of these gave him any relief from it at all. They did not comfort him, and they did not aide him in 2934, when his mother passed.  
Bag-End lay quiet for many a year as Bilbo buried himself in the tedious, frivolous life of a Shireling. In time, he forgot of the grey wizard and his fireworks, and he had forgotten who he was entirely by the time Gandalf returned. 

He had turned into the likeness of the very cousins he had despised as a child- the Sackvilles.  
And, seeing it as it was rather obvious to him, Gandalf gently pointed this out to Bilbo the very day he leaned upon his cane with a frown. "To think that I should have lived to be 'goodmorning'ed by Belladonna Took's son, as if I were selling buttons at the door."  
"Beg your pardon?" Bilbo said, brow furrowing at his words.  
To this the wizard took a deep breath, settling age-worn eyes upon the hobbit before him with a feeling of sorrow in his chest. "You have changed, Bilbo Baggins..." he said, his voice shifting.  
"I'm sorry, do I know you?"  
He sighed at that, growing impatient. "Well you know my name, although you do not remember that I belong to it. I'm Gandalf! And Gandalf means-" he faltered, catching himself before blurting out: "me."  
"Gandalf.." he contemplated, "not Gandalf, the wandering wizard that made such excellent fireworks! Old Took used to have them all the time for Midsummer's Eve!-"  
The grey wizard perked up, eyes sparking with hope a moment before finding it snuffed out promptly by: "I had no idea you were still in business!"  
He frowned again, lips thinning. "And where else would I be?" he asked, to which the hobbit puffed nervously on his pipe in reply.  
Well, if he would not find who he was here in the Shire, perhaps he would find him out on the road... Gandalf's brows rose, and his decision became final.  
"Well, I'm pleased to find you remember something about me... even if it's only my fireworks," he said, "Well, that's decided. It will be very good for you, and most amusing for me. I shall inform the others."  
He had to hide a grin a Shire mile long as Bilbo floundered and rose to his feet, babbling. "Inform who? What?" he said, choking a bit on his pipe tobacco, "No. No. No! Wait. We do not want any adventures here, thank you," he stammered, "not today-"

He let himself smile when Bilbo went into Bag-End, and after leaving his mark- and the Shire- he let himself laugh at Bilbo's expense. It truly was for his own good. 

\----  
Dwarves. Dwarves everywhere. Dwarves in his pantry, dwarves in his halls, dwarven weapons in the foyer and dwarven shoeprints on every rug. Bilbo's nerves were frayed, his mind restless and his eternal patience almost finding it's end- and yet his blood sang in his veins at the calamity and mess. He ached to smile and cry at the same time, and for the first time in a long time he found himself sitting on the fence of what he had been, and what he could be. And he could have very well fallen back on his Baggins ways... if it wasn't for that one damn dwarrow.  
"You look more like a grocer than a burglar."  
It lit a fire under the seat of his pants, and he found himself stewing on that for much longer than he should have. A grocer? A bloody grocer?! He wasn't a burglar, but by Eru he wasn't a blooming GROCER. He was much more than that! He could read and write Sindarin, could make nearly anything grow, and he was NOT going to be talked to as if he were merely someone to be dealt with over what cheese to buy!  
And so he listened to their gathering, asking a question here and there. All the while his mind told him not to- to go back to his books and his armchair... but it was too late for his heart to agree. He would prove Thorin wrong. He was no grocer. He was a Baggins of Bag-End.  
And he would do well to remember that.


End file.
